User blog:CuteLunaMoon/Chapter 3: Hot blooded
I soon catch glimpse of the vile creature gorging on the blood-ridden corpse. It dugs its teeth into the body's belly and tears out internal organ with a possibly grin on its beastly face. Without a word, I lunge at the werewolf and with a swift strike from my transformed barbed whip, I make it bleed. I slash the creature multiple times and each time the barbed teeth of my Threaded Cane bite into the werewolf's teeth, its blood splatter the dusty, crumbling floor. Stunned by my sudden assault, the werewolf runs towards the corner, howling and snarling angrily. I duck as It hurls an operatable at me. The table flies over me and knocks my horse hair peruke Wig - The 18th century nobility often wear wigs. off my head. No one touches my peruke and lives! I close in for a belly kick and then slap the monster in the face as noble as I can. Then, I corner the vile werewolf and strike the killing blow. I wrap my whip around its neck and pull back with full force. The blades cut deep into its neck and severe the head. Its body drops dead to the blood-ridden floor, motionless. If it had not been for the knowledge from the notes the Messengers offer, I would have been his snack for sure. I adjust my pardessus, bought a good while since, and clean the stains of blood from my cloak with a handkerchief I take from a nearby operating table. It would be awfully awkward if a lady sees my head that had prematurely begun to bald. And my horse hair peruke was a present from my grandfather, Baron Frederick II. With the beast lying dead on the floor, I advance toward the clinic's front door, but just as soon as I open it, I hear a small cough. Was that the Blood Minister? I look around and see nothing but heaps of rusty, dust-covered medical instruments. Could it be the corpse that was half-eaten by the beast? I sit down next to the corpse and inspect it. Just as expected, no sign of life. He was a poor citizen of Yharnam, evidently in his linen garb, probably of the lowest quality and calloused, puny hand, probably from hard labour and malnutrition. I was born a noble and under no necessity of seeking my bread so it's hard for me to imagine the life of the lowborn. Nevertheless, I whisper a small prayer to the dead and walk outside to open the gate to Central Yharnam. The street is quiet and a thin layer of mist covers everything. Night coming upon me, I begin with a heavy heart to consider what would be my lot if there are any ravenous beasts that can lurk about in the dark corners, and at night they always come out to play. From afar, I see a weak light in the mist and catch glimpse of a man with a torch. Thank goodness! There's somebody here. I could ask for staying in until dawn. I will immediately take the next coach in the morning to get out of this mishappen place. As I walk closer to the torchbearer, he appears to be an elderly folk. I could not help but notice a bloody axe in his left hand but who would not arm themselves on a night of the hunt? The man wears a worn, ragged cloak besmeared with blood and stink of the beast. He's abnormally tall, hairy that the bravest person could not behold him without feeling some degree of terror. However, I approach him in a courteous manner and expect to have met with the same reception I had done from the Inn Keeper. But to my great surprise, the flea-ridden man throws a fierce look at me, and screams wildly: " You! You plague-ridden rat! Aaaargh!" He swings his axe at me all of sudden and the axe blade buries deep into my shoulder. The man's eyes are ablaze with hatred and his face is covered in fur like a beast. A half-turned! I startle as I realize the degenerated condition of the man. I kick the man's belly and painfully remove the axe from my shoulder. Before I could finish removing the axe, he violently and repeatedly strikes me with his torch. He strikes me with such force that it leaves me senseless, and indeed helpless, for the blows taking my side and breast, beat the breath out of me. For an instant, I feel a primal instinct surges through my mind. I forget the grievous wound on my shoulder and lunge at the half werewolf. I wrestle the man down and press him against the cobblestone street. Then, I grab his hairy neck and bit hard into his veins. I feel salty blood streaming out into my throat and spilling onto my face. He screams, wails helplessly for a moment and eventually ceases to fight back as I feed on the sweet, oozing substance that is streaming from his neck. When I finally settle my mind back, I realize what I have done and it startles me that I have acted like a flesh-hungry beast. I bit his neck and drank his blood. And to my utter disgust, I did enjoy drinking it. Explanation Category:Blog posts